The Right Hand of Sleep (29 page)

—I need to speak to Oskar. Is he here?

She swung the door open. —Come inside.

—Thank you, Fräulein.

She opened a cupboard. —Have you had any breakfast?

—Yes. Thank you.

—Cup of tea?

—No. You’re very kind.

Else sat down and smiled flatly. Voxlauer could see only the back of Ryslavy’s head from the parlor. He was fidgeting with the drawstring of the blinds and humming to himself.

—Would you like a drink, perhaps, Herr Ryslavy?

—No, thank you. He looked about him all at once, remembering his manners. —Very pretty house you have here. Tranquil.

—That’s right; you’ve never visited, Else said.

Ryslavy didn’t answer. Else sat with her arms folded, watching him.

—Hello, Pauli! said Voxlauer, stepping up into the kitchen. —Where’s the fire?

Ryslavy grimaced and shifted in his chair. —I need you to come down, Oskar. Voxlauer looked back and forth between the two of them, buttoning up his shirt. —Something’s happened, he said stupidly after a moment.

Ryslavy stood up and bowed to Else. —Sorry again for disturbing you, Fräulein.

—Not at all. Could you tell us what’s wrong, please?

—Is it my mother? said Voxlauer. —If it is, then—

Ryslavy shook his head from side to side. —It’s nothing like that, Oskar.

The glass-fronted awning was gutted and splayed open and the window boxes facing the square hung down in all directions like the leaves of a fire-wilted bush. Crushed glass covered the foyer and curled in from each charred, battered window frame in sparkling arabesques. The bar was blistered and discolored and each stool lay hacked into sections and scattered across the floor. A wide dark stain ran from the bar into the kitchen. —Whose blood is that? said Voxlauer.

Ryslavy shrugged. —I don’t know. Not a person’s, I don’t think.

—Where’s Emelia?

—A friend’s in St. Marein.

Else stood in the vestibule, looking around her. —Who would do such a thing?

Ryslavy glanced at Voxlauer. —I’m sure I wouldn’t know, Fräulein.

—But I would, Herr Ryslavy? You’re perfectly right. She walked past them and stepped carefully behind the bar. —There’s more blood back here, she said.

—An even trade, Ryslavy said, grinning crookedly. —The blood of a sheep for everything I own.

—Where were you? said Else.

—Trying to keep the kegs from boiling, said Ryslavy, pointing to the cellar door.

—Nobody came down after you?

—No, Fräulein. I had a pistol.

Voxlauer looked at him. —You had a pistol?

—As far as anybody knew. Ryslavy leaned back against the bar. —They weren’t trying to murder me, Oskar. Just the business.

—What was it, Pauli? Weren’t you paying your fees?

—Ach! What fees, Oskar? No one’s paying any blessed fees. He paused, passing a hand across his eyes. —I was open an hour or two on Sunday. A few people came.

Else came round from behind the bar. —I found one lonely old beer.

—We’ll be drinking from the bottle, I expect, said Voxlauer. Ryslavy shot him a wounded look.

—Who was it? Did you see? said Else.

—Rindt, Maier, Kroyacher, Fuchs. There were more outside. Breischa, I’m fairly sure. Welinek.

—Welinek? The schoolteacher?

Ryslavy nodded.

—Might as well have been red injuns, said Voxlauer.

—How did you put the fire out? said Else, turning the bottle back and forth on the top of the bar.

—Werner Hirt came and brought his sons. Old man Herbst came. The fire wagon too, after a little while.

—People actually came?

Ryslavy smiled. —They’re decent, civic-minded citizens at bottom, Fräulein. And their houses stand flush up next to this one.

They were quiet for a time. —Old man Herbst’s still alive, that gassy bastard? said Voxlauer. Ryslavy didn’t answer.

They spent the afternoon sweeping the glass into burlap sacks and nailing quartered crates over the windows. At six o’clock Else came back with lye powder for the floor and a pot of warm
pastaciutta
and poppy rolls. Ryslavy went down to the cellar for wine. Voxlauer and Else righted a table and brought three stools from the kitchen. —I went and saw Kurt, she said furtively. —He says he knew. But he wasn’t part of it.

—You’ll have to explain that to me sometime, Fräulein, said Voxlauer. —When we’re both of us feeling patient.

After dinner Ryslavy brought out a pack of cards and a second and a third bottle of wine and they played Pagat by the light of a gas lantern set on the bar. A window at the far end of the room was open and through it the lights of the square threw the shadows of passersby onto the ceiling. The shadows began near to life size at the far corner but grew huge and grotesque as they passed overhead. Voxlauer was convinced he could recognize some of them. He felt light-headed. —Lots of people out strolling tonight, he said.

Ryslavy nodded, staring down at his cards.

—You should charge half a schilling admission, said Voxlauer. He turned to Else. —You might mention it to your cousin.

—Oskar has to have his jokes, said Else.

—I know it all too well, Fräulein, said Ryslavy, slurring a little as he spoke.

—Don’t call her Fräulein like that, said Voxlauer.

—You’re drunk, said Ryslavy, eyes still on his cards.

—Pagat! announced Voxlauer, dropping the card face upward onto the table.

Ryslavy shook his head. —These are troubled times, Fräulein.

—We’ll have our satisfaction yet, Herr Ryslavy. A little patience.

Voxlauer shuffled next and dealt. They studied their hands in silence.

—I’ll call out a three-game, said Ryslavy. He raised a finger. —The Jew stands alone.
Semper solo.

—It’s you and me, then, Fräulein, against the undesirable, said Voxlauer. —We have society’s mandate.

—Shit-eaters! Ryslavy yelled, lunging up from the table. —Shit-eating sons of bitches!

—Time for bed, said Voxlauer, rising. He caught up with Ryslavy at the door to the kitchen and shepherded him in a loose wobbling arc past the bar to the foot of the stairs.

—Good night, dear Fräulein. Dear dear Fräulein. Ryslavy made a halfhearted attempt to climb the bottommost step and looked sideways at Voxlauer. —Oskar, he muttered. —You have a beautiful wife.

—And you have very pretty trout, said Voxlauer. —Up.

—Take any room, said Ryslavy, lurching forward. —Take the bridal suite.

—None of these units qualify, I’m afraid, said Voxlauer, guiding him up to the landing. —Do you need me to make a light?

—Get back to your Pagat, old kid. Get back, you old billy goat.

—Good night, then, you drunken ass. Dream something about Christmas.

—I like Good Friday better, Ryslavy shouted. —Tell that to those sons of whores and donkeys! Tell them
that
!

—Most likely they’ve heard already, said Voxlauer, dragging him by his collar up the stairs.

—You should have let him rant, said Else as Voxlauer came down the stairs. —He has a right, poor bastard. She was sitting at the bar, looking out through the ruined foyer. She straightened herself slightly as he came near.

—You’ve certainly changed allegiances suddenly.

—Allegiances?

—You can’t have it both ways, Fräulein.

She frowned. —Why are you saying this?

—You can’t be for Pauli and your cousin both. That’s all.

—Did I say I was for either of them? I said Pauli had a right. No more than that.

—They can’t both of them have a right. Can they?

She didn’t answer for a time. —I want to go back to the valley, Oskar, she said.

The glow of the streetlamps fell in pale wavering rectangles across the bar. Voxlauer stood in the dark drunkenly, watching her.

—Let’s get out of here, at least, she said, slipping down from her barstool.

“Remember,” I said to the boys as they filed past me. “You’re
policemen.” No one paid much attention. They trooped without a
word around the corner to the wide-open brass doors of the chancellery, their badly fitted uniforms sagging and billowing as they
went. They were all of them young boys, good at following orders
and strong and dumb as posts. I followed them as quickly as I
could around the corner.

We had no trouble getting past the first brace of guards. There
were seven of them in the courtyard, all together in a huddle,
smoking cigarettes by an iron rack for bicycles. One of them asked
me the time as we came in. Spengler immediately stepped over to
him.

“Where’s the cabinet room, brother?”

“What cabinet room?” the guard said, frowning.

“A little joke,” I said, moving between the guard and Spengler.

“What’s this about?” another guard said curiously, coming
over.

“You’re all under arrest,” said Spengler, ramming his rifle into
the first guard’s ribs. “Urnngh,” groaned the guard, bending over.
The rest laid down their rifles immediately and raised their hands.
We left ten boys there and went in with the rest, Spengler looking
down at his floor plan all the while with a puzzled expression,
turning it this way and that like a French postcard. “Give me that
thing,” I snapped, snatching it away from him. To my surprise he
shot me a grateful look.

“A left here, then,” I said, moving past him at the top of the
stairs.

“Maybe we should ask another guard for directions,” said
Little Ernst, coming up behind us.

“You shut your mouth, Ernst,” Spengler muttered. “Where to,
Bauer?”

“Past those,” I said, pointing down the corridor to a cluster of
guards in bright red uniforms with panicked expressions on their
faces. Spengler lowered his rifle and fired into them without slowing.
The second from the left spun hard into the wall, clutched his stomach and slumped over without making the slightest sound. I had
never seen anyone shot before and I remember looking at the back of
Spengler’s head with sudden envy. The other nine guards laid down
their guns and knelt as one man wordlessly onto the carpet.

“There’s patriotism for you,” Spengler crowed. Ernst and the
other boys collected the rifles, moved the guards to one side of the
corridor and shoved their faces against the tiles. Spengler was
already at the leather-padded doors behind them. He glanced back
at us, gave a stiff-necked little nod and kicked them open. Behind
the doors was a cluttered anteroom and beyond it three men in uniforms of state at a long oaken table. Dollfuss sat on an elevated
chair between the other two. He raised his hands with deliberate,
self-conscious dignity and they followed suit. “On your feet,” said
Spengler, fiddling with his rifle’s safety catch.

The three of them stood immediately. They were all slight of
build, but Dollfuss was a true miniature; with his hands raised in
the air he looked like a child of eight wearing a paste-on mustache.

“Where are the rest?” said Spengler, pointing to the empty
chairs.

“Gone,” said Dollfuss.

No one spoke for a moment. “Well? Are you going to murder
us here, at the cabinet-room table?” Dollfuss said, looking at each
of us in turn. A trace of a smile played around his mouth.

“Quiet!” Spengler yelled. He began pacing up and down the
long room, staring furiously at the carpet. Twenty or so of the
boys had now crowded in behind us. An isolated gunshot carried
in from the hall and Spengler drew himself up at the sound of it.
“Search them, Bauer,” he said, gesturing peevishly at the ministers.

The Home Guard adjutant, Ley, had a single-shot gentleman’s
pistol hidden in the lining of his smoking vest. The security secretary, ironically enough, was completely unarmed. Dollfuss had a
pearl-handled jackknife in his waistcoat pocket; he let me take it
only after looking me sternly in the eye. “That knife was given me
by the Duke of all of Italy, little brother. See that you treat it with
respect.”

“You shut your mouth,” Spengler hissed, pushing me aside.
“Jew-lover! Dwarf! Save the drama for your abdication, little
Napoleon! Save it for your Duce!”

“Spengler,” I whispered, jerking my head toward the anteroom. Three more shots had sounded.

Dollfuss leaned forward now, his dark eyes twinkling. “Spengler? Is that your name?” He smiled indulgently. “You, Spengler,
will be hanging in the Rathausplatz by noon tomorrow, like a side
of beef.”

Spengler furrowed his brow and came purposefully around the
table. I had seen this expression on his face before, many times, and
knew what it meant. Dollfuss had turned, statesmanlike, to address
the assembled. “I have no sympathy for the Jewish cause . . .” he
began. I stepped forward before Spengler could reach him and hit
him flush across the base of his skull with the butt of Ley’s pistol; he sighed once and fell weightlessly against me. “Right, then,”
said Spengler. We carried Dollfuss to a small adjoining room and
herded the two ministers in after him, sitting them down on a
bench with their faces to the cracked, dust-covered paneling and
their hands clasped behind their backs. Dollfuss collapsed silently
in one of the corners. I sat on the floor with a few of the boys and
waited for him to come to, wondering idly what his knife might
bring from a collector. After some minutes, the security secretary
raised his hand and asked politely if he might have a glass of water.
I stood up, straightened my jacket and told him he could drink
after he’d resigned. A few of the boys giggled.